


no call and no warning

by voodoochild



Series: Clockwork and Cold Steel [1]
Category: Iskryne Series - Elizabeth Bear & Sarah Monette, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Breeding, Dubious Consent, F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Older Woman/Younger Man, Pegging, Pre-Series, Psychic Wolves, Soul Bond, Wolves Make Them Do It, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when your alpha male doesn't bond with one of your soldiers, but a half-gypsy gang matriarch instead? Well, really, you get the hell out of their way. [Fusion with "A Companion to Wolves", set at the very beginning of World War I.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	no call and no warning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Third Annual "Psychic Wolves for Lupercalia!" fest, because if there were ever a bunch who needed to have big fuckoff wolves, it's the Shelbys. I blame Petra and Em for encouraging this, telling me to embrace the dirtybadwrong, and letting me write 4600 words of slightly-dubcon crossgen incest.
> 
> The psychic wolves belong to Elizabeth Bear and Sarah Monette, the Shelbys belong to the BBC, and both the series and story titles belong to U2's "Love is Blindness". I am none of those entities.

Polly doesn't know about the problems they've been having with the Small Heath regiment. 

The boys have come home with fresh bond-smells and stories of their new brothers and sister - Arthur's brother Gunnar, big and black, the best tracker of the pack; John's brother Nicolae, lithe and tan, almost desert-colors, quick and deadly; Tommy's sister Simza, queen bitch of the pack and one of the fiercest wolves anyone's seen in years. They're a success, one of the first regiments in England to form nearly a perfect cohort of soldiers and trellwolves, and they're going to be a great help to the Western Front. Polly watches them develop their pack-sense with the same belly-twisting envy she's felt ever since she was a girl.

_No, girls can't have wolfsiblings. You're not Bloody Queen Bess, after all._

But she's happy for the boys, because they haven't been this glad, this relaxed, since their mother died. She could almost forget that they're leaving for France in ten days, because Tommy's laughing and Arthur's ruffling John's hair and they're spoiling Ada and Finn with attention. They invite her and Ada and Finn up to the camp, they're going to need to meet the wolves, establish themselves as part of the pack, make sure the bond is properly witnessed and sealed.

And so when she sets off for the camp, Finn's hand in hers and Ada pestering her with questions ("but why can't I have a wolf too?") the entire way, she doesn't believe there will be anything more to it. She takes Ada and Finn to the wolf barracks without any agenda, she tells them later, because most of the wolves love playing with children and Finn's been begging to go.

She has one eye on Ada - scratching a pregnant bitch's ears - and the other on Finn - tumbling around with two brindled pups - when she feels it. Scents it, really, it's the warm breeze off the river that she used to play with her sister in as girls, and while it's faint, it's getting closer. She turns to see one of the unbonded wolves rounding the breeding pens, grey fur ruffling as he runs right for her. She thinks she should be frightened, certainly the attendants and their wolfsiblings are, panicked and shouting, but the scent is almost overwhelming and it feels like everything she'd ever heard.

Safe. Pack. Home.

The grey wolf bounds to a stop in front of her, and she hears her wolfbrother for the first time: _I was waiting for you._

"Oh," she says, startled. Pushes Finn behind her when he goes to pet the wolf, and slowly kneels on the ground in front of him. Stops dead when he growls at her, and she doesn't understand. "What-?"

_We're alphas. We don't kneel. Kneeling is for weaklings._

Startled, she gets back to her feet, brushing the grass from her skirts. 

_I'm sorry. They tell us to kneel in greeting, when a human's brother wolf chooses him._

_Who does?_

_Men, mostly,_ she says, and her brother chuckles for the disdain in her voice. _You - we're alphas? You're choosing me?_

River breeze again, and her brother goes to his hind legs, bracing his paws on her shoulders. He could snap her throat in a single heartbeat, and she doesn't care. 

_You're my sister. My packmate. Didn't choose you, I scented you and I knew._

He sends her her scent-name ("gunpowder/cold water"), and she bares her teeth in thanks. It feels strong, sharp, like she is, and Polly can feel it drifting through the pack bond to find other scent-names (whiskey/forest, bonfire/horses, rifle oil/chips), mixing and strengthening the pack bond. To her unspoken question, he noses at her face, acknowledging her as equal, and tells her his name.

_Reagan._

***

Later, when all the soldiers and officers and wolves are surrounding them, she'll remember how strong and certain Reagan was. She certainly wasn't, trying to answer demands of "what do you mean our strongest alpha wolfbrother bonded you?" and "break it, break it now!", and suddenly Reagan was in front of her, baring his teeth at the lot of them.

And Christ, someone's obviously gotten word to the boys, because there they are, three figures in green and three wolves at their sides fighting through the crowd to get to her. It only makes the officers - it's _always_ the officers - scream louder, blustering and posturing, their wolfbrothers snapping their jaws and howling. 

_"Get *away* from them."_

It's Tommy and Simza, both at once. Commanding and sounding as if they've every right to be obeyed, and she can feel Reagan's satisfaction at their intervention. Tommy embraces her, turns her to stand slightly behind him. Simza, grey and black fur glistening in the sunlight, trots over and places herself right next to Reagan, nosing at Polly's hip.

 _He told me about you,_ Simza says, through the pack-bond, and yes, that's right, only the alpha female can initiate new members into the pack. _You protected him, all of them. You were their alpha. Thank you._

She's lovely, Polly can see. Bigger than normal for a wolf, but most of the alpha bitches are. Eyes like Tommy's, bluer than a winter sky. Reagan sends her memories, running through the woods with Simza, hunting and playing together. Complete trust in Simza, the way she trusts Tommy, and they're in complete agreement about that.

_Promise me you'll take care of him now. You don't have to accept me if you don't want to, but I want your word._

_He is my brother. As you are my pack-sister._ Simza lays her ears back at the fellow with the most jewelry on his chest, highest rank there, she supposes, and growls once. _You are Reagan's sister, and they cannot tell us otherwise._

"They can try," she thinks to herself, but Gunnar's wheeled around to her other side - flanking, protecting the alpha - with Arthur squeezing her hand. John slips between Tommy and the right flank, his Nicolae growling and snapping at one private's wolfbrother that's edging too close. She also thinks - knows, with Reagan's certainty beating through her blood - that if a single man attempts to stand against them, they'll tear him to pieces.

Some men are disturbed by bloodthirst, of pack memories and hunts and what seems to humans like senseless killing. It's why the experts claim that wolves won't bond women; they're too delicate to handle the horror of it. Polly embraces it, remembers the dozens of times she's wanted a way to strike back against those who hurt her and knows she's got one now.

"Now see here-" one of the soldiers begins, but he's only a lieutenant, and he backs down before Simza's icy glare. 

"None of you are going to lay a fucking hand on her," Arthur snarls, Gunnar swiping at two tan-furred wolves that have just tried to snap at Polly's skirts.

"If she's a wolfsister, she shouldn't bally well need protection, should she?" asks a captain, stripes down his arm and a disdainful white wolf at his side. "Causing a fracas, I suppose we shouldn't expect better from Brummie-"

Nicolae snaps at the captain's trousers, his wolf returning the growl, John drawing his gun as well. Tommy scoffs at the captain, razors lining his cap glinting in the sun.

"Yeah, that's right, call us fucking Brummie scum, pikey mongooses, gyp bastards. Call us what you fucking like. But we bonded your prize wolves, boys - you wouldn't have a cohort if not for us."

One of the younger lieutenants, wolfless, spits in her direction. "She's not a fucking soldier, dunno why you're humoring the bitch, Captain-"

"And you will _not_ speak to her. At all." Tommy says, Simza growling at the kid and backing him up. "Understand, Inwood? Don't take your lack of bollocks out on her. Reagan wouldn't bond your poncey arse in a hundred years, you're not alpha enough."

Polly cautiously tests out the pack-sense, asks what they're talking about. She gets back a barrage of indignation and posturing and anger: Reagan, Simza, Gunnar, and Nicolae are four of the army's best trellwolves, pedigreed, meant for some officers' regiment in London. They were bred to bond with the old trellfamilies of London, the Gathorne-Hardys or the Mitfords, who had the money and power to exploit them to their fullest. They're too valuable to the war effort to be abandoned, but no one's happy that a didicoy bitch and her nephews from the arse end of Birmingham have bonded them. 

And she laughs, because it's the same old fucking story, and elbows her way through her nephews, standing toe-to-toe with the uppity captain.

"This is what you wanted to see, is it?" she asks, casting a slight nod at the man's wolfbrother. "That I wasn't going to cost you your best alpha male, be something dragging you down. I won't. You call them all off, or you'll have a fucking bloodbath that I'll be standing in the center of."

The wolf sits back on his haunches and sniffs disdainfully. The captain looks at her as if she's a mildly entertaining insect, and tugs his gloves further up his wrists.

"Disperse," he snaps, and the circle breaks, men and wolves slinking off. He stays where he is, his brother ignoring the way Reagan growls at him, and looks shrewdly at the boys before his gaze returns to her. "We'll see if you're worth the trouble, Mrs. Shelby."

"Miss *Gray*," she snaps, before the boys can. "As my nephews can tell you, being married to their father's a fate I wouldn't wish on Lucifer himself."

"I stand corrected. But my point remains, we shall see if this bond is worth it."

***

What normally is allowed a full week - wolf and human bonding, living together, learning to navigate the pack-sense - is compressed to three days for Polly and Reagan. She stays in a tent at the army camp so she and Reagan won't have to sleep apart, she undergoes all the awkward poking and prodding by the army doctors, and she laughs her way through a lecture from one of the doctors about breeding. 

It's better than it has any right to be, because they're all waiting for official word from the brass over what's to be done about them. Reagan has to go to the front with his pack, they won't consider a woman serving in uniform, the pack bond is solid now and might affect the pack if she and Reagan are separated.

She's happy, mostly. The boys are helping, just by being there and going through it themselves. While Reagan is an alpha, he's still just out of puppyhood - he reminds her of her nephews, all bluster and bravado and problematic limbs he can't quite work - and she keeps up a steady stream of support through the bond. Pushes him back on track when he goes running through the woods, reminds him of how to best assert his alpha status with the other wolves, curls up with him in the tent and strokes his fur while he pesters her with questions about the family.

_Can we teach pennies/flannel/Finn to track? He's our brother too._

_Why does whiskey/forest/Arthur go so quiet? He has a pack to love him, doesn't he?_

_Does chips/rifle-oil/John have a mate? And pups? Why can't I call them pups?_

_Simza says bonfire/horses/Tommy can't ride anymore. Why? Don't horses like us?_

_Can we find a wolfsister for piano-music/jam/Ada? What's a piano?_

_I want to eat bad-man/father. Nicolae does too. Simza says we can't, but he was awful. Pollysister, why was he so awful?_

Some questions she can answer ("no, we call them children, not pups", "horses who aren't raised with trellwolves shy at the bond, they know you'll hunt them") and a lot she can't. She's still learning to respond with her thoughts, weave images and memories through the words because the wolves understand those better. She tries it with Reagan now, sends him impressions of riding with Tommy down by the river valley, listening to music with Ada, a carefully selected bit of Arthur Senior shouting at the kids, slapping her. 

_Why would you let him-?_

Reagan doesn't have time to press her further, because there's an impatient throat-clearing-cough from outside her tent, and a voice calls out - "Miss Grey, we'd like to speak to you and Reagan."

She pulls her coat on and ducks outside to find two guards, their wolfbrothers, and a doctor she hasn't seen before. He introduces himself as Captain Redmond, and through the pack-sense, she can smell his fear.

"Out with it, Captain," she says, staving off his third attempt at small talk. 

He does get to the point rather quickly. "We believe Simza's going to be going into heat either tonight or tomorrow."

 _So?_ Reagan sends her. _Heats are fun. Breeding's fun. You chase and bite and rut until she's pleased._

_Yes, but why's he telling us?_

"And?" she asks Redmond. "What haven't you spit out yet?"

"We - that is, the army feels . . . well, surely you've noticed that Simza and Reagan are our only Level 1 alphas."

She feels lightheaded as the implication sinks in. "You want to breed them."

Redmond smiles apologetically. "They would have been bred no matter who they bonded with. Too valuable to the war effort, you understand. Why, the number of pups we could get out of them alone - half a cohort. And we are quite thin on trellwolves, the ruddy Huns outnumber us twenty to one."

"I am not fucking-"

"Lower your voice."

She raises it, of course. "You're not forcing either of us to do this. Breed Simza with someone else - Freddie's brother Leon, or Paul Stockwell's brother Mortimer. Not with my Reagan."

_But Pollysister, I don't understand. It's Simza and Tommy, we love them-_

_Hush. Not now._

"I had rather thought you'd be more amenable to this. You're aware of how much the army needs trellwolves. And it's not as if - well, I'd been given to understand you lot were at home with unorthodox practices."

"Oh, do it. Call me a didicoy bitch from the gutter, you know you want to." She snarls it, Reagan picking up on the images she's sending him of what the doctor's implying. He doesn't like it either, ears laying back, and Redmond backs up. "What, you think because my da was barely off the caravan that we sleep twelve to a bed and live in complete filth? Get the bloody hell out of my sight before I let Reagan tear your throat out."

Redmond scampers, but she learns what the guards were for - one stuffs a chloroform soaked rag to her mouth, the other ties her hands and feet before she falls. The last thing she hears before she passes out is Reagan snarling and shouting for help through the bond.

***

She wakes up in an unfamiliar tent on a surprisingly comfortable cot, and the first thing she does is check on Reagan.

_Where are you?_

_Pollysister! Scared-worried-angry. Leon and Gunnar said you'd be all right, but I couldn't hear you._

_Maybe-safe. Head and belly hurt. Can you smell where you are, or where I am?_

_Mmmm, camp. Medicine. Oil. Near forest, not near soldiers. That's you. I'm in the pens, safe with pack. Simza's not here._

_What about Tommy?_

_Can't smell bonfire/horses/Tommy. Simza's running, forest, river, fastfastfast, want, pack good._

Polly breathes clean air, remembers what they've told her about managing the bond. Listens to Reagan and responds with that part of herself that can focus on watching Finn while chatting with Mrs. Alden about the washing. Gathers her bearings enough to realize they've stripped her down to her shift, corset, and smallclothes. 

Somehow that doesn't frighten her as much as the parcel she finds on the table next to the cot. It's a small jar of oil, a tube of medical salve, a pamphlet with crude anatomical drawings of the male anatomy, another pamphlet entitled "Mating Habits of Trellwolves", and a fairly large dildo with harness. Her stomach sinks enough that she thinks she might vomit, and she draws the thin sheet up about her shoulders.

Cautiously, she tries the pack-sense: _easy, breathe, yes new, we've got your backs, heat's gonna be bloody awful, you can do it, breathe, fuckin' brass, keep it between the pack, keep you safe, breathe, calm..._

_Boys, one at a time, huh?_

John-and-Nicolae pipe up first. _We're sorry, Pol. We didn't know Simza would hit her heat so fast. Should've warned you._

_Nothing to do about it now. Just me-and-Reagan?_

John-and-Nicolae again. _They said it was a single-breeding. It can be multiple, but if this one were, they'dve put Simza and Tommy on fucking lockdown and lined up all of us outside._

_Oh. Christ almighty. Yes, I know, still breathing._

Freddie-and-Leon, shy, still that little boy with his hands in her cookie jar, staring at Ada. _We're on backup, but they want it to be Reagan. Leon-and-I will look out for them, you know we will._

_I know. Can anyone tell me where he is?_

Charlie Strong. Her cousin Charlie and his sister Vasanti. _Pre-heat shack scrubdown. Got all sorts of fuckin' ideas about what a man with a wolfsister should do during heat._ He and Vasanti send through images (washing, made to drink tonics, swaddled in clothes) and their mutual disgust. _He'll be fine, shena. So will you. Take more than His Majesty's Toffs and a little heat to break one of us._

_Better. Still worried. Still want to empty my stomach and shoot the next man in uniform to look at me crosswise._

Reagan chimes in with his own desire to bite the dicks off the ones who drugged her, and there's general laughter and amusement. 

Arthur-and-Gunnar. _That's more like it. We got them to agree to leave you alone, when the heat starts. They wanted to send in one of the docs, but they ain't got to gawk. Nothing they ain't seen before._

_Yesgoodthankyou. Thank you all. Pack-sense during heat?_

Charlie-and-Vasanti again. _Fades, mostly. The bond between you and Reagan will go quiet when Simza's heat gets to him. If you wanted to, you could sense us, but we know you won't. Don't worry._

She doesn't say "as if it's that fucking simple", but they hear it anyway.

***

It's mostly quiet for an hour or so after sunset, just Reagan's building impatience and Simza's distant desperation, and then everything just - explodes.

Reagan's voice becomes insistent in her head ( _Simza Simza so sweet so good wantwantwant please let me chase howl rut please_ ) and the pack-sense goes slightly haywire and when she thinks she can't take it, the flap of the tent opens and two guards throw Tommy inside, tying the flaps tightly behind them. Reagan sends her his glee at being set free from the wolf pens, running through the forest in the crisp air, and she sends him a _go get her, good boy_ as she runs to Tommy.

He looks a complete wreck - he's freshly washed and pink-skinned, but he's shaking like a leaf, eyes wide and dark - and he flinches from her. She stops before she touches him, slowly kneels next to him, places her hands in her lap, and tries to suppress the urge to shoot every single man who's touched him today.

"Thomas?" she asks, trying to send him _calm, breathe, love you_. "Can you look at me?"

Shivering, he flicks his gaze up to hers ( _stop waiting, Pollysister_ , Reagan whines, _want want chase take him_ ), and rasps out in a harsh voice. "Not you. Not like this. Tried to tell them to get you out, but they did what they wanted. If you touch me, it - it won't stop."

She takes a deep breath, tries to shove Reagan's howling to the back of her mind. She ducks her head to catch his eyes, the way she used to when he was younger and tried to lie to her. Before he figured out she could always see through him.

"We aren't going to have a choice in another few moments," she says, watches him flush and shiver harder. She can feel it beginning to surge from Reagan to her, belly-twisting want that goes deeper than anything she's ever felt. "So you tell me now, right now while you've still got a solid thought in your head, will you forgive me?"

He stares at her like he's never seen her before, and there's a pack-sense ghost of _stop fighting you'll make it worse they'll take you with them whether or not you want it_. But he closes shaking hands around her cheeks, cups her face.

"Always. Not a single thing to forgive, Pol." He swallows, looks away, then back at her. "I want you, if you'll have me."

"Then you kiss me now. Like you mean it, and we'll get through this."

He tugs her to her knees, wraps her in his arms. He's hotter than Hades, sweat beading on his temples, the hollows of his collarbones and sheening down his back, and she wants to curl her fingers into his hair, but it's army-short. Trails her nails down his neck instead, and he presses sharply against her, breathes out like he's been shot. Kisses her with his next breath, like he doesn't care if it's his last, mouth hungry and sweet against hers. 

Christ, he tastes lovely, knows from the pamphlets it's the supplements and tonics they've given him, and she feels like she's burning from the inside out. Licks desperately into his mouth and sucks the taste from his tongue, his lips. He's worked her shift up, gets it over her head, and fumbles with the laces to her corset.

"Bloody _soldiers_ ," she curses, pulls his knife from his boot and hands it to him. "Just this once, and be sure your hands don't shake."

His smile is shy and wicked at the same time, and he cuts through her laces, peels her out of the corset. He seems unsure, on edge, the slightly-distracted look that she's learned wolfsiblings get when they're concentrating on their brothers or sisters. Cautiously opens the pack-sense, and fuck, fuck, _bad_ idea.

***

Simza's nearly in full heat, leading Reagan through the woods, darting between trees, doubling back, building the anticipation.

Polly doesn't remember moving, won't remember it even later once she tries to piece it back together. Reagan's in her head, urging her on ( _you can catch him, hold him, mark him_ ) and she's grabbed him by the hair, pulled him to the cot.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasps, but he squirms out of his trousers under her, and he's lovely and hard for her. 

"Don't be." He tugs her down to kiss her, arches and writhes for her hands pressing his wrists to the cot. "I haven't - I've done this, but I haven't done this. Been fucked during a heat. I got the Essex Beer/Monkey Beer talk just like every bloke with a sister, though. I'll be all right."

Charlie-and-Vasanti break into the pack-sense. _Essex Beer's SB, a single breeding, like Simza and Reagan. Monkey Beer is MB, a multiple breeding. I'll show you the papers later. Stop fighting, it's hurting the whole fucking lot of us when our alphas aren't working together. Boy's dying for it, can't you feel him?_

She doesn't know when she took her hands away from Tommy's wrists, but her hands are shoving at her knickers. Tommy's running his fingers over her breasts, down her belly and then up her thighs, and suddenly she's slammed back into her body. And it's like she knows exactly what she needs, what they both need - she fits her hand to his chin, bares his throat and bites him sharp and sweet over his pulse. He goes utterly boneless, moaning sweetly for it, and she reaches for the dildo and the harness.

The pack-sense goes dead-quiet, except for the mating instinct cutting through them both. Whatever anyone else feels or hears or sees, they're deep into it now, and she wouldn't stop if you held a gun to her head. Not when she has Tommy spread out and waiting for her, trying to wriggle to his knees, and growling low in his throat. 

She slaps at his arse, and he goes dead-still, a sharp whine coming out in spite of himself. "Stop fighting it. You'll get it, you'll get what you need, I'll see to it. You'll get fucked when I say you'll get fucked, understand?"

"YesyesyesYES, Polly, please come on do it I can take it let me take it." He gets his knees under him and arches his back, begging for another slap. She strikes him again and his groan makes her realize how wet she is. How her fingers are slipping as she tries to get the harness in position. "Need it, come on, just fuck me, push in and do it hard."

Heartbeats later, she does. Keeps just enough of her senses about her to use the oil to slick up the dildo, pour down the cleft of his arse and work into him. He's going mad for it now, wriggling and tightening around the dildo, and she doesn't know how she manages it, but she pins him to the cot, forces his head down. Bites down hard on his neck, and he comes, shaking and pushing the harness back against her, hard enough to make her climax.

And it's long moments, filled with his low moans and his hips moving almost in spite of him. She grabs his chin, kisses him, and starts to rock into him again. He gasps, nearly tries to throw her off, but she holds his head down with one hand and takes his cock in the other. Fucks him until he's hard again, and then rips the harness off.

"What are- oh Jesus fuck, Polly - it won't work with the heat, I need to be fucked-"

She shoves him to the floor and straddles his hips, slides down slick and easy and then grinds down hard. "Oh, sweetheart, you'll be fucked right proper, don't you worry."

Rides him for all he's worth, feels the pack bond curling through them both, and he gives as good as he gets. Proper alpha bitch, and she wouldn't like it if he just laid there. The way he moves with her, the way he touches her breasts and clutches at her waist and kisses her, the way he comes and still makes sure to see to her. She shatters for his fingers against her clit, and they lie on the floor shivering and gasping for breath.

They manage to drag themselves onto the bed, laughing like drains for Tommy's sore arse and the chafing on her thighs and the rug burns on their knees. She hasn't been this happy after sex in years, and she feels a fleeting rush of sadness from him.

"No, Pol. Not - just listen."

It comes through the pack-sense: _Fifteen, Dad's bruises all over my arms, you walked down the Lane and threw an iron at his head. Took care of us ever since, and all I ever wanted was to be worth it to you. Make you proud. Happy. You should be._

_You make me happy. Bondmate. Mineminemine. Mine?_

_Yes of course yours. Alphas. Equals._

And distantly, there's a sleepy, satisfied Reagan - _all right, Pollysister?_

_All right, Reaganbrother. And Simza?_

Impressions of them tangled around each other, Simza lazily grooming Reagan's belly fur. Polly sends back one of her and Tommy, his body curled around hers and his head resting in the hollow of her shoulder. 

She thinks she might be getting the hang of this.

**Author's Note:**

> trellwolves = giant psychic wolves that bond with (usually) male humans; bred specifically for war  
> Simza = Romany, "joy"  
> Gunnar= Norse, "warrior"  
> Nicolae = Romanian, "victory"  
> Reagan = Celtic, "little king"  
> Vasanti = Hindu, "spring"  
> didicoy = slur meaning "half-blooded gypsy"  
> shena = loosely, Romany for "chosen sister"  
> Beer, Essex, Monkey, Sugar = signalese for "B", "E", "M", and "S", precursor to the NATO phonetic alphabet's "Bravo", "Echo", "Mike", and "Sierra".

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I scented you and I knew](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246456) by [basaltgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl)




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